


Of Service

by Violsva



Category: The Comfortable Courtesan - Madame C- C-
Genre: Episode Tag, Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5434355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Docket prepares her shaken Ladyship for bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Service

**Author's Note:**

> Occurs immediately after [this installment](http://the-comfortable-courtesan.dreamwidth.org/53006.html).

Despite its barbarism, this land does have some novel ideas of fashion, which I think, now that she is finally out of mourning, would suit Madame quite well. In her new sphere she may well start Society fashions, as she has always deserved to.

I was sketching some examples for Biddy when Madame returned. It should properly be “Her Ladyship,” and indeed it always is when I address her, but I cannot think of her as aught but Madame – I think none of us who have been with her from so early could.

She was terrible distressed – not quite so much as she had been that night before her sea voyage, but very pale. ’Tis a sign of this land’s barbarity that such a man as that Junker should be admitted into decent society at all. There are many times when I have dreamed of going after him with a hot iron, and indeed I might have done it after that night was not Madame so clearly upset by the idea. Though really I don’t know what else that pet assassin of hers (as he would like to be) is good for, other than decoration. (I admit he is quite good at that.)

Madame pulled at her neckline, looking most upset. “Here,” I said, taking her hands, “don’t tear at the stitching. Where are your rubies, my Lady?”

“Oh,” she said, “I gave them to Lord G-. He’ll bring them up presently.”

I began to unbutton her. This wasn’t like her, any more than it was like her to be uncaring of her clothes. She loved those rubies, and if I weren’t firm with her would hardly take them off, and wear them with all manner of unsuitable outfits.

They went quite well with this frock, though. One cannot overestimate the effect of fine clothes on a lady’s confidence – all of my professional and personal experience has shown that. Tonight, I thought, she had most earnestly needed such confidence.

“What has happened, your Ladyship?” I asked. “You were not offered any insult, I hope?”

“Oh – Docket -” she said, “Docket, the Prussian is dead.”

“It can only be what he deserved,” I said, patting her shoulder. “Step out. Has that Marcello broken his word, then?”

“Oh, no,” she said, as I unlaced her. “Docket, he saw me – and I wore this shade of blue on that night -” I well remembered. I had worried she might take a disliking to it, but luckily she did not. “- and with the rubies – he stepped off the balcony. I think, Docket, I know it sounds most Gothick and unlikely, but I think he took me for a vengeful spirit.”

It was a very disjointed tale, but I thought I had the fundamentals of it. Indeed it sounded Gothick, but Madame does not normally tend to fancies, even if she does write those novels (which are, truly, really quite good for their kind).

I removed her stays, checking that she had not forgotten any revolutionary messages in her bosom, and sat her down at her dressing table. “I hope, my Lady, that you are not blaming yourself for it? Sure if you did have any responsibility in the matter it would only be worthy of praise, but I don’t believe you do.” I wondered should I tell her of my mother, who would speak but little of my father’s death but had been known to say firmly that she had nothing to regret.

“Oh, no,” she replied, as I took down her hair. She has very lovely hair – luckily the fashion now is not for wigs, as it was when I was a child, for it would be a crime to cover it. “No, though I do feel rather like Nemesis I am only a little shocked.”

“As well you might be.” I began to comb her hair. “Lean back and close your eyes, my Lady. Think of how there is no chance of you being so shocked by him again.”

“So practical, Docket,” she sighed, obeying me. She fell naturally into breathing in the rhythm of the comb’s strokes through her hair. It is a very calming ritual, even when she does not need it so sorely as she did that night, and prepares one for sleep marvellously.

“I thought,” she murmured as I started braiding, “that if he remembered anything of that night ’twould be Hector’s fine work. Having assaulted so many women, I would not have thought him susceptible to guilt.”

“Perhaps not guilt, my Lady, but fear. ’Tis more likely to take hold even upon those with no conscience to pang them. He might well have been more superstitious than you would expect. I hear that ’tis common among foreigners.”

“And among the English too, or how should my stories do so well?”

“No doubt Mr. MacD- would tell you superstition has naught to do with his enjoyment of them.” A smile – excellent, she was not likely, then, to cry herself to sleep as she had after her last encounter with that man. “Now, though, you must sleep, my Lady, or tomorrow ’twill not be mere superstition that makes you appear a ghost.”

She laughed a little. “Dear Docket,” she said, bending to untie her garters. “You are quite right, as always. Have you one of those lavender pillows?”

“Of course, my Lady.”

There was a tap at the door, and I helped Madame into her dressing-gown before opening it. “My apologies for my lateness,” said Lord G- R-. “There was much curiosity belowstairs over her Ladyship’s early return.”

“I should,” said Madame, “have stayed and explained, as I did the last time, but -”

“No one blames you, dearest C-. Here are her rubies, Docket.”

I thanked him, and he left with nothing else but a sincere good night to Madame. His Lordship, confirming the household’s long-held suspicions, has never spent a night in Madame’s room here. Their mutual affection, however, is most clear.

I settled the rubies in their casket and my Lady in her bed. She sometimes sits up reading (miraculously, she has not yet developed a squint from doing so), but tonight she pressed her feet against the warmth where the hot bricks had lain minutes before, and her face against the lavender-and-hops pillow, and asked me to put out the candles.

I reminded myself to be most quiet when coming to wake her, and to leave her asleep should she seem at all in need of it. And though she did not often have nightmares of any kind, I thought I might wish to sleep lightly myself, for if any night would give her them this would be the one.


End file.
